


An Ascension Incarnassial

by PartiallyStars_MostlyVoid



Category: Cultist Simulator (Video Game)
Genre: F/F, F/M, Gen, M/M, warnings and triggers likely to be added as additional chapters go up
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-16
Updated: 2019-12-08
Packaged: 2020-06-29 13:48:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,055
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19831498
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PartiallyStars_MostlyVoid/pseuds/PartiallyStars_MostlyVoid
Summary: The diary of one Rollo Rutherford V, generally considered to be faked, or at least heavily fictionalised. It documents the progression of certain appetites. ‘Edited’ and (self)published by Nullimor Blest.





	1. In Which Matters of Family and It's Associated Aunts Are Much Discussed

**Author's Note:**

> A gameplay-based fanfic, inspired by the narrative lets-play A Soul Healer’s Parable by Reveilled on SomethingAwful, which you can enjoy here: https://forums.somethingawful.com/showthread.php?threadid=3888951&userid=0&perpage=40&pagenumber=1

* * *

Foreword

Decay is not a function of living, just as the sea is not a function of the river. Delight is not found in earth or in salt. It is in copper and the cup, and it is in blood. These are the words of Our Delight, and the methods of their devouring. 

-Nullimor Blest

* * *

**June 28th**

Early start today. Rose at eleven. A lovely day. Shall enjoy wasting it. 

**June 29th**

Owe Aunt M. a painting. Do not forget!!

Visited Father. Still sick. Still bad tempered old goat. Not sure why I bother. 

**July 3rd**

Met M. at her hotel. Promised to bring canvas next lunch. Aunt dreadfully cross. Bought dinner to smooth things over- remembered why visiting F. is such a good idea. Allowances are a grace that keeps Aunts at bay.

Home. Slapped some ink on canvas, will call it impressionist. 

**July 5th**

Another sick-visit. F. not even awake this time. Left early to sidle down to club. Conversation much more lively.

**July 6th**

Slipped into Ori’s today while avoiding M. Picked up some books on a whim. Not really the reading type- so much else to do! But got into rather a bidding war over them. Purchase became a matter of principle. 

***

Examined prize.

Item: Conjugation of boffin fodder. Lot of academic wish-wash. Next!

Item: Dream journal? Some fellow’s been at it with a razor. Hardly think T. Galmier would be pleased. 

Item: Latin. Not been up to snuff on that since school days, but no matter- this one has pictures. One could say illustrations. Certainly something. For later, more private perusal perhaps. 

***

Giddy evening, but came home without company. No matter- time to see what light amusements might be couched in latin. 

**July 7th**

Woke with face sticking to pages, mouth tastes like a riverbed. Thankfully did not fall asleep on a page too incriminating. Ink bled- won’t quite wash off. Blasted book. 

Puzzled out the title- Transforming Orchids. Something like that. Would account for the nature of some of the illustrations. Left it under pillow before going out. Seemed fitting. 

**July 8th**

An inspired evening! Don’t remember a thing. Sun is setting, delicious, red. Time for an encore. 

**July 10th**

Father dead. Train: 11.34. Details to follow. 

**July 11th**

Details not forthcoming. Arrived to find old stomping ground crawling with solicitors and clerks and accompanying insects. Have attempted to ask about state of business affairs, will, allowance. Was somehow always passed on with promise of solid answer. Answers remain distinctly immaterial. Shall have to attempt to put the foot down. 

***

Nobody will talk to me. Correction, Aunt M. rather voluble in my direction, but Aunts do not count as bodies. Rather they are sources of grief to sensible young men attempting to find out where his next club membership fees shall be coming from. 

Aunt M. already primed, so have fired her in direction of nearest solicitor. Rather an enjoyable conflagration to watch over a glass.

**July 15th**

Matters resolved in regions over one’s head and behind one’s back. Took cold comfort in solicitor’s new attitude, post close encounter with M. 

Short and short of it: Papa enjoyed company of money. Money did not enjoy company of Papa, and attempted to escape by any means poss. Exact inventory of means yet to be made. Project not likely to be completed this side of the century. 

Apparently, Father already tickling bottom of barrel for allowance. Suspect the old goat died on cue in order to wriggle out of providing any further. 

**July 16th**

Final funds released today as lump sum, along with contents of Father’s study. More precisely, contents of study desk drawers and walls. Furniture itself apparently a matter of debate. Numerous debts still to be cleared.

Has been suggested by some that I might want to take on some of the debts myself! Laughed until they went away. Might as well venture upstairs, take stock of my inheritance. 

***

Item: Papers

Item: More papers

Item: Personal diary, shorthand. Covers a few years. Entries understandably sparser towards the end.

Item: Book, found under diary. ‘Travelling At Night’. Vol 2. Would have ignored, except books F. favoured not really the multi-volumed sort. 

Item: Papers again

Item: Papers once more

Item: Godawful painting of a couple of women simpering in gauze. Banally provocative. 

Item: Papers

Apparently F. attempted to pulp and stuff a whole forest into his desk before he died. Spent a satisfying while folding some darts. Have a whole fleet of them at my elbows now. 

***

Poss should actually examine the things. 

***

Heroic effort made on my part made to stack and sort, but defeat claims me. In order to sort, had to read, and in reading, well- a house without walls? The colours of sleep? Whole lot of bally nonsense. The sort of nonsense that ends up hanging together, if one’s not careful. 

Only thing stopping me from doubling my dart fleet is the book. Has a ticket inside- Lot number stamped in the burnt orange of Oriflamme’s. 

Another second volume, same place. Both found nestled in fragments.

Coincidence, likely. 

Still. The colour of my father’s sleep seems to have also been red.

**July 17th** (technically)

Dreams.

My fault for sleeping in a dead man’s bed, but faced with a choice between this and my old room? Thought I’d take my chances with the ghosts here. 

The room is cold. My dreams were cold. My dreams were red. The room is not yet red. 

Had the fire lit, and am sat before it in bedclothes. The body at least is a little warmer.

Cold dreams. Red dreams. 

Thinking of Father. Found him here once, when I was younger and he wasn’t sick. The same hour of the morning, firelight behind him robbing him of detail. Hunched, wrapped in bedclothes. Writing. 

Am going to spend the rest of the night in one of the guest rooms. 

**July 17th **(proper)

F.’s diary relatively easy to decipher- still written in the same shorthand as when I lived with him. Learned to read that long ago. 

Diary contains much the same as papers before it- only lacks the redeeming feature of being suitable for dart fodder. Admittedly much more cohesive, being dated and already in order. 

A name stands out- Nascent Jemisin. F. seems to have been an admirer of the poor fellow. Even kept the article about their death- fire destroyed the whole of some nowhere place cross-channel. Alas alack for Kerisham*. 

Rather marks the beginning of the end for poor old Papa. Entries become a ramble, tho’ admittedly one that dips occasionally into a new colour of ink. Who knew the old man had such an imagination on him. 

***

Found a correspondence card stuck to inside of back cover. Another admiree? A co-conspirator? 

Shan’t know unless I reach out to them, shall I. 

Poss. ought to bring Aunt M. along as bodyguard. 

* **Editor’s Note:** No newspapers obtained from Kerisham itself at the time make any mention of a fire. The front page that date was chiefly concerned with rises in local sea levels.


	2. Which Both Begins And Ends With The Introduction Of A Stranger

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Inspired by the narrative lets-play A Soul Healer’s Parable by Reveilled on SomethingAwful, which you can enjoy here: https://forums.somethingawful.com/showthread.php?threadid=3888951&userid=0&perpage=40&pagenumber=1

**July 18th**

Appt. P.L. 20/07. 4.15 Long St. Cafe

**July 20th**

L. St. Caff not at all improved since last and only visit. Still apparently constructing their pastries from cardboard. Would rather have met somewhere more comfortable, but such details decidedly not left in my hands. 

Had consumed two coffees and three abominable pastries by the time the hairs on the back of the neck began to stir. Turn around to find self pinioned by a real harpoon of a gaze. Am not the most observant of fellows, but am certain wielder of said ocular weaponry was not there on own arrival. Clearly, had located P.L. Or rather, she, I.

Introductions exchanged. Quiet woman. Smiled a lot. Very small, very thin teeth. Surprisingly cold for having such a genial air. Seemed to know Papa better than I did. Such a fact much less surprising. Also no great shock to hear it intimated he was seeking pleasures “denied to healthy society.” Well, Father dear, aren’t we all?

That admission is made here in the privacy of shorthand. Didn’t take kindly to P.L.s employment of hated phrase, ‘finish what he started’. Still. She was still. Stillness speaking to a memory of a dream. 

Accepted her proposal. If nothing else, have never regretted hearing the phrase ‘substantial contribution’. Her conditions trouble me a little. Shall be not providing myself for an ending. Can read between the lines there well enough. But, with her gold-and-silver aid, shall be well appointed to set the right tongues wagging. Winter shall give way to the red. 

Besides! Am not so without friends or means. After all, the house shall be the perfect setting for acquiring new acquaintances. Shan’t have any problems providing P.L. with her ending. All shall be well.

**July 21st**

Horrific news! 

The house is to be taken to pay for debts. Have put down the foot, shouted at those accessible for shouting at, even threatened the deployment of Aunt M. Nothing results. Apparently even the formidable bulwark of matriarchal relatives cannot divert the tide of capital from it’s decided course. Bastards. 

Am left with nothing but the meagre sum in the will. Donation of P.L. shall only stretch so far, and at present am lacking in sufficient sway with Ori’s numismatists to develop it to fullest capacity. Only viable solution is to find employment _*_. 

Intolerable! Not to mention downright cruel! Can a bereaved man not mourn his lunatic pater in peace???

*[ **E/N:** the underlining in the original document appears to have gone right through the paper]

**July 26th**

Found work. Start tomorrow. Humiliating. Do not wish to record details. Posterity can gain more satisfaction and insight by reflecting on its own posterior. 

**July 26th [evening]**

IN GI RUM IMUS NOC TE ET CON SUMI MUR IGNI

Now there is a lump of the roman tongue that hasn’t escaped or withered on the vine! Might be the only lump. Answer, naturally, is moths. Shall commiserate my new career in fashion that best befits it. 

[ **E/N** : The next few pages are densely packed with writing, but unfortunately entirely illegible. Ink appears to have been spilled across one page, and several pages underneath it have been torn out. Text resumes]

**July 28th**

A mess! Mistakes may reveal themselves a pleasure, but pleasure gained is never mistaken. Excuse handwriting. Not entirely cohesive on page still. Head all full of sights and sounds and sores. Much so that last one. Fuck. 

***

Feeling a little clearer. Less dazzle, more hangover. Shall attempt here to recollect last night. Wouldn’t normally bother, but met someone am keen to remember. 

Am rather put out that Ecd. unknown to me for so long. Stepped over threshold to welcoming embrace of smoke, red velvet, music thrum-thrumming through the feet to the chest. Didn’t know a single soul there. Bought drink, set about fixing that. 

Dancers there superb, of no other persuasion than lithe and rhythmbound. Not unexpected, but beyond welcome. Nothing wrong with the fair and feminine, but variety is the spice etc etc. However. Had this display to enjoy, was enjoying, promising company developing next to me, and yet- 

Begins to get a little blurry here. Remember a face, very clearly. Strong profile, no feature short of striking. Little hollows of shadow. Lips set smiling, almost bored. Eyes all blazed with low lights. Hunger there, I think, well hid. 

Decided to talk to him. No memory if I did. Other images swim together, glasses and lights and someone’s kisses, yes, but lipstick stains suggest not his. Cannot shake the feeling of something missed, or dead, or drowning. 

Cannot sit still. Need a focus to prevent the mind from eating itself. Perhaps employment not such a foul thing after all?

***

Found note pinned to door. Services apparently no longer required. No patience at all, some people. 

***

Tried to exorcise the remembered face by sketching it. Abysmal results. 

Refuse to sit here and mope like a caricature in one of F.’s beloved pulps. IN GI RUM IMIS NOC TE ET CON SUMI MUR IGNI. The night is to be enjoyed as much as wine. May find him again, may not. But no part of my soul do I owe to ghosts.


End file.
